Hannah started chemotherapy during pregnancy (Picture: Brett Harman)
I’ll never forget the day I was told I had cancer.
It was September 2015 and I was just 26. For weeks, I’d been feeling exhausted, plagued by back pain, and picking up infections from the smallest of cuts.
When I finally went for blood tests, and later a bone marrow biopsy, the news came that I had acute lymphoblastic leukaemia, an aggressive blood cancer. I felt terrified, yet determined.
Within days, my world shifted to hospital wards, chemotherapy, and a battle for survival. My weight dropped by three stone, I lost my hair, and my immune system vanished.
For months, I was confined to an isolated hospital room, barely able to walk. Through it all, my partner Hannah was there.
She was training to be a nurse at the time, juggling her degree and my endless treatments, but she never left my side. She helped me eat when I was too weak to hold a spoon, cheered me up when the walls felt like they were closing in, and reminded me there was a future worth fighting for.
Hannah (pictured) and I got engaged in Las Vegas (Picture: Brett Harman)
By early 2016, the doctors said I was in remission. I still had two more years of maintenance chemotherapy, but I had hope again.
That’s when my perspective on life began to change. I realised how fragile everything was and how precious the little things were.
I left teaching in 2019 to pursue my dream of opening my own escape room business. With a loan, a leap of faith, and Hannah cheering me on, Rush Hour Escape Rooms was born.
Life finally felt like it was coming together. Hannah and I got engaged in Las Vegas, and we started trying for a baby, eventually succeeding. For the first time in years, the future felt bright.
But in the summer of 2021, our world fell apart again.
I had acute lymphoblastic leukaemia, an aggressive blood cancer (Picture: Brett Harman)
Hannah noticed a lump on her leg. It grew frighteningly fast and tests confirmed it was BCOR sarcoma, a rare and brutal cancer. Hannah was just 26.
We couldn’t believe it after everything we’d already been through. Here we were again, and this time, she was four months pregnant with our daughter.
Doctors moved quickly and Hannah started chemotherapy during pregnancy. However, in November, our baby began to show signs she wasn’t growing properly, likely because of the treatment.
Hannah was induced early, and on December 10, 2021, our daughter Summer was born.
Hannah was exhausted, bald, and so weak, but she did it. She gave birth with a depleted immune system and delivered our miracle. Summer was perfect.
Hannah was induced early, and on December 10, 2021, our daughter Summer was born (Picture: Brett Harman)
For months, Hannah endured more chemotherapy and radiotherapy, while I stumbled through fatherhood, getting to grips with nappies, bottles, and sleepless nights.
I struggled with depression and anxiety, but we made it through. By late 2022, Hannah was in remission, too.
We thought we’d beaten it together. We planned our wedding, Summer was thriving, and things felt hopeful again.
Then, in the summer of 2024, our perfect life all came crashing down.
Hannah was working a nursing shift when she was rushed to hospital with crippling abdominal pains. After weeks of tests, we heard the words we’d dreaded, that the cancer was back. It had spread, and this time was incurable.
She looked at me and said, as best she could, ‘Look after Summer for me’ (Picture: Brett Harman)
It felt like the ground had been ripped from under us. I remember sitting there, numb, as doctors explained there was no cure.
Hannah insisted she’d beat it again. But deep down, I knew this time was different.
She went through more treatment, hoping for a miracle. But by October, the new round of chemotherapy had destroyed her immune system. She caught virus after virus, and soon she was in intensive care.
One evening, before she was placed on a ventilator, she looked at me and said, as best she could, ‘Look after Summer for me’.
That was the last thing she ever said to me.
On October 31, 2024, just 18 days before her 30th birthday, my soulmate and best friend passed away. I was left to raise our daughter alone.
I still ache every day for Hannah, and I know I always will (Picture: Brett Harman)
Explaining to a nearly three-year-old that her mummy wasn’t coming back was the hardest thing I’ve ever done. At night, after putting Summer to bed, I’d sit on the kitchen floor and cry, feeling utterly lost.
Suddenly, I had to be both mum and dad, juggling housework, running a business, and parenting. I even YouTubed how to plait hair so Summer could feel pretty.
In the quiet after Hannah’s passing, I needed something to hold onto. What began as me going live on TikTok for a bit of company slowly grew into Brettflix, a community of over 250,000 cinephiles who share my love of films, pop culture, and a good laugh.
It’s led to a podcast, voiceover work, even movie premiere invites. But more than anything, it’s helped me find joy again.
Meanwhile, Summer and I have become inseparable. She is my world and my reason to get up each morning. We talk about her mum often.
I’ve run a Race for Life in Hannah’s memory, lost four stone, and am training for a 10K. We even have a commemorative bench in town, a place we can sit and feel close to her.
Life will never be the same. I still ache every day for Hannah, and I know I always will. She was an NHS hero, an incredible mum, and the bravest person I’ve ever known.
But I promised her I’d look after Summer, and that’s exactly what I’ll do.
Hannah taught me that life is fragile, but also full of love. I carry her strength with me, and I’m determined to make her proud.
For Summer, for Hannah, and for the life we dreamed of.
Do you have a story you’d like to share? Get in touch by emailing James.Besanvalle@metro.co.uk.
Share your views in the comments below.
Arrow
MORE: Joe Biden receiving new treatment after ‘aggressive’ prostate cancer spreads
Arrow
MORE: I’m a HSP – it took me 24 hours to recover from being beeped
Arrow
MORE: Disabled people like me are waiting 47 years for an accessible home
Comments
Add Metro as a Preferred Source on Google
Add as preferred source
Degrees of Separation
Join us each week as hear from the people going through familial estrangement, for worse and for better.